


For the wounded

by Sparkleymask



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Game(s), Qun-Loyal Iron Bull, Trespasser DLC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2016-08-29
Packaged: 2018-08-11 20:16:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7906141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sparkleymask/pseuds/Sparkleymask
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“You miss him still.”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>He shakes his head, but it’s not a denial. “Pathetic, isn’t it? After what he did.”</i>
</p>
<p>Years after the Iron Bull's death, a conversation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For the wounded

**Author's Note:**

> I've been thinking a lot about the ending of Trespasser with a Qun-loyal Bull. This strange little thing is the result.

“I heard a rumour.”

“Ah, rumour,” says Dorian. “My constant companion. What have you heard?”

“That you knew the Qunari who betrayed the Inquisition.”

“Knew him,” he says, in a tone that suggests such a thing would be impossible.

“Is that why you’re so suspicious of the Qunari?”

His laughter is brittle and forced. “You’re in Tevinter, my friend. Try and find someone who isn’t.”

“No, it’s more than that.”

He turns away, walks back to the paper-strewn desk. The chair is set back from it at a haphazard angle, and his staff, upright, balances precariously against its edge. He touches one of the topmost papers, running his fingertips along a line of text, but his eyes don’t follow their progress.

“I loved him,” he says eventually. “I thought he loved me. Maybe a part of him did, I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. It wasn’t enough. I wasn’t…” His hand stops moving, fingers pressing into the hard surface until the tips turn white. He looks up, eyes fiercely bright. “ _That’s_ how I know you can’t trust the Qunari. The Qun always comes first.”

“I’m sorry.”

It deflates him: he dismisses the apology with a weary wave of his hand. “It was a long time ago.”

“You miss him still.”

He shakes his head, but it’s not a denial. “Pathetic, isn’t it? After what he did.” He moves round to the front of the desk, leaning his weight back against its edge, heedlessly crumpling the nearest papers. The back of his right wrist pushes against a wooden box, half-hidden beneath the mess – smallish, decoratively carved, a glint of weathered metal surrounding the keyhole.

His gaze catches on it for a moment.

“I heard another rumour.”

“Oh?”

“That you can raise the dead.”

“It doesn’t work like that.” There’s an edge in his voice; not quite anger.

“You were never tempted to try?”

“Even if the spirits of the dead do go to the Fade, chances are any likeness one finds there is a demon. And you can never tell, until they start making offers.”

“You have thought about it, though.”

He stands abruptly, and paces to the window. It is tall, ornate, stretching nearly the full height of the room. The sun is low and bright, and he is almost a silhouette against it. ”For years, I hated him. More than I missed him. But now…” He stops himself, searching for the right words. “When we were together I accepted that the Qun was part of him, even if I didn’t understand it. That was a mistake.” He half-turns from the window. “It was _my_ mistake.”

“You wonder how you might have done things differently?”

“Maybe he didn’t love me.” His shoulders tighten, as if the words sting. “But without the Qun – maybe he could have.” He sighs, and the tightness drains from his stance. He is too exhausted to maintain it. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this.”

He returns to the desk and begins shuffling the papers into proper piles. His fingers brush lightly over the lid of the box as he swipes the papers covering it; it might be accidental.

“What would you give to have him back, Dorian?”

He looks up sharply, realisation filtering into his expression. He reaches for his staff. His fingers tighten around it, but there, yes – he hesitates.

“What would you _give_?”


End file.
